Thomas Koloniar - Cannibal Reign

“Ed, wake up!” the woman whispered. “There’s someone in the house!”

Colonel Ed Lucket sat up in the dark listening. “I don’t hear anything,” he said quietly.

“I heard a clunk in your study!”

Lucket listened a moment longer and reached for his cell phone, only to find that it was gone from the nightstand where he put it every night before bed. “Shit. Stay here.”

“But what are you—”

“Stay here!” he hissed, pulling his arm free of her grasp before hurriedly stepping into a pair of pants.

“Be careful!”

He waved at her to shut up and poked his head into the hall, where he saw a light on in the study at the far end, a thin layer of smoke hanging stagnant in the dim glow. What the hell was going on? He made his way cautiously along the wall, a cold sweat breaking out across his chest. His heart skipped a beat when he heard someone shift in his chair, the leather creaking. The only firearm in the house was in the wall safe behind his desk.

He drew a deep breath and stepped boldly into the room, instantly recognizing the man sitting at the desk. “Reeves!” he bellowed. “What the hell are you doing? You scared the billy piss out of me!”

Jerry Reeves sat back in the chair, serenely smoking one of Lucket’s fine Cuban cigars taken from the humidor in the corner. He gestured with it to an open folder on the desk. “This file makes for a rather jarring read, Colonel.”

The colonel saw his pistol and cell phone resting on the desk near the folder, the door to his wall safe ajar. “That’s classified, you son of a bitch! And how did you get past the security system? It’s the fucking best!”

“Indeed it is,” Reeves chuckled, shaping the smoldering end of the cigar against the crystal ashtray. “Though an alarm system’s only as dependable as the man using it.”

Lucket felt his face flush. Reeves was a civilian with Army intelligence, attached to the Pentagon, a crafty bastard he’d been trying to subvert for years. “I asked how you got in.”

“I strolled into the garage right behind you and the—uh… lady . That is General Loughton’s wife, isn’t it? Of course it is, otherwise you’d have gone right for the landline.”

“Get out of my house!” Lucket ordered, pointing at the door, the gray hair on his chest glistening.

Reeves held up the file. “Colonel, who else is privy to this nightmare? Why are they so intent on keeping it a secret?”

Lucket’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that rather obvious? The world would tear itself apart. Now get out!”

“In due time,” Reeves said affably. “First, I want the video. The one your CIA pals made of me down in Havana last week.”

Lucket was hard-pressed to cover his shock. “I… I’d say your illicit real estate deal is irrelevant now… given what you’ve just read.”

“Quite the contrary. It’s even more relevant now than it was an hour ago when I stood watching you and the general’s wife have at it.”

Lucket felt a worrisome tightness in his chest, bit back an obscenity. “Why is it more relevant?”

Reeves tapped the file. “It’s obvious I’ll need someplace warm to weather this storm.”

“There’s no place to run,” Lucket sneered. “No place to hide.”

Reeves puffed the cigar as he considered his next move, realizing that Lucket would likely attempt to have him terminated now that he’d read the file. “About the video, Colonel?”

“It’s not here,” Lucket said thinly.

Reeves took the pistol and shot him in the leg, shattering his left knee. The colonel went down swearing: “You filthy bastard!”

“I may be that,” Reeves said, rising, the cigar in his free hand, “but I’m not here to discuss my finer qualities with you. Now where’s the video? I’d like to hold onto my position long enough to honor some old debts.”

The colonel lay over on his side, his chest constricting, gripping his knee and barely suppressing the urge to vomit. “Middle drawer, you son of a bitch! Take it and get out!”

Reeves took a small unmarked video card from his pocket. He’d already found it in the drawer but wanted to be sure of what it was. “May I assume this is the only copy?” he asked, the cigar caught in the corner of his mouth.

Lucket realized he was a dead man. “You’re a filthy coward!” he roared. “Do you hear me? A filthy coward! ”

Reeves squatted beside him, a frown creasing his face as he put the weapon to the colonel’s head. “I didn’t come here to kill you,” he said solicitously, “but we both know you would have sent someone to kill me for reading that file.”

“Burn in hell!” Lucket made a desperate grab for the weapon and was very nearly fast enough, though not quite.

Reeves squeezed off the round in the nick of time, glad to have given the colonel a chance to go out fighting. He then wiped down the pistol along with anything else he had touched, locking it back in the safe and taking the file down the hall to the bedroom. He flicked on the light and knelt down to find Mrs. Loughton hiding under the bed.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, offering his hand to the terrified woman. “I’ve never made war on women or children. Come on out of there.”

Mrs. Loughton sat sniveling in a chair a short time later, Lucket’s robe gathered around her as she sopped at her eyes with a tissue. A blonde with nice skin, she was sexy for being almost fifty, around Reeve’s own age. “Is he dead?” she whimpered.

“Very,” Reeves said, setting the cigar down in the ashtray on the nightstand and fluffing one of the pillows. “Were you in love with him?”

She shook her head despondently. “Though I liked him a lot— You’re going to kill me!” she blurted.

Reeves went around to remake her side of the bed. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to hurt you. What I’m going to do is take you home. And then you and I are going to keep one another’s secrets… which I’d say is more than fair.”

She watched him tidy up. “Why would you trust me?”

He finished and picked up the cigar, eyeing the file beneath the lamp. “Let’s just say I’ve learned something tonight that makes much me less worried about the immediate future than I might otherwise have been. Now go get dressed while I make a quick call.”

General Loughton’s wife gathered her clothes and stepped into the master bathroom, closing the door.

Reeves took her chair and pulled a satellite phone from inside his coat pocket, dialing a number from memory. The phone rang a number of times before it was finally answered.

“I hope this is important,” said a tired voice.